The List in the Lunch
by razztaztic
Summary: O/S, for the Fan Fiction Challenge at Bonesology. Brennan and Booth discuss the value of bucket lists.


"I don't understand the purpose," she said, spearing a pea pod delicately. They sat at their usual table by the window at the small diner near The Jeffersonian, having lunch. As per normal, a random comment by Booth had ignited a spirited discussion.

"What's not to understand? It's a list of things you want to do before you die." He added mustard to his burger and removed half of the onion tucked beneath the bun. "It's a simple enough concept."

"But why would you wait until you were near death before deciding to do everything you always wanted to do? It would be more rational to have those experiences randomly, as you thought about them, instead of waiting until the end of your life to do them all at once."

"Most people don't think like that, Bones. We always assume we have more time, but once you know you only have a certain amount left, you want to enjoy it as much as possible." He poured ketchup beside the fries on his plate.

"Because you're dying." She looked at him steadily over the rim of her water glass.

"Exactly." He gave her a wide grin.

She shook her head, put her glass down and stabbed a bit of avocado. "I'd rather enjoy my time living, instead of trying to enjoy my time dying. But if I do have time to prepare for death, I believe it would be better used updating my will and putting the rest of my affairs in order so that my heirs can properly administer my estate."

"Well, sure, but in the meantime, you've got to have some fun, too, Bones." He took a large bite from his burger.

"While I'm dying."

He nodded, his mouth full.

"What have I been doing when I wasn't dying?" she asked, waving her empty fork in the air.

He chewed quickly and swallowed. "I don't know . . . you were busy. With your bone stuff. Writing books. Whatever. So when you find out you're dying, you decide to start checking stuff off your bucket list." He picked up a fry. "Like . . . jumping out of an airplane."

"I've already done that."

"You've been skydiving?" The french fry he'd just picked up stopped briefly halfway to his mouth.

"It was only a static line jump, but yes. The first few seconds were terrifying but after that, it was very exhilarating. But you know that, I'm sure. I noticed the airborne wings on your military uniform." She cast a covetous eye toward the fries on his plate.

"Well, I wouldn't call parachuting into a war zone exhilarating, Bones." He frowned and pulled his plate closer, wondering what else he didn't know about her, even after all these years. "Okay, so no skydiving. Maybe . . . maybe you want to meet the Dali Lama."

"I found him to be very condescending," she said, turning back to her salad, using her fork to search for something tasty.

"You've met the Dali Lama." He was no longer surprised.

"Yes. Frankly, I wasn't impressed. I've received better advice from the inside of a fortune cookie." She punctured an olive.

He shook his head. "Okay, I give up." Another chunk of burger disappeared. "You've already done everything. You don't need a bucket list. Forget I asked."

"Well, obviously I haven't done everything, Booth. But if there's something I want to experience, I schedule it as soon as possible." She shrugged; it made sense to her. "Do you have one of these lists? What do you want to do?"

"Drive the Zamboni during the third period of the seventh game of the Stanley Cup finals," he said without hesitation, dipping a fry into ketchup. Her lips froze around the spear of broccoli she'd just popped into her mouth and she stared at him wordlessly. "It's the big machine they drive out on the ice," he explained.

"And that's what you'd like to do if you were dying?" Her expression reflected her confusion.

"Yea. And go to the World Series, the Super Bowl. Among other things." He bit into his burger again.

"I gave you tickets to one of the games of last year's World Series," she said. "Should I have waited to find out if you were dying first?" she asked, staring at him curiously.

"Who's dying?" Max Keenan appeared at Brennan's elbow, leaning down to kiss her temple. "Hi, honey. No, that's okay," he said as she moved to slide over to the empty chair next to her to allow him room to join them. "I'm just picking up something to go." He raised a hand at the waitress behind the counter. "Anyway . . . who's sick?"

"No one, Dad," she answered. She put down her fork and grabbed a fry. "Booth is explaining his death wish."

Booth choked as he tried to swallow the bite he'd just taken. "Bucket list, Bones," he said when he could breath again. "I don't have a death wish. It's a bucket list."

"Bucket list," she repeated. "He wants to ride an ice machine during Stanley's seventh game," she explained to her father.

Max blinked, then grinned at Booth who was staring open-mouthed at Brennan. "Zamboni, seventh game, Stanley Cup finals?" he asked.

"Yea," Booth answered, shaking his head at Brennan. "Bones doesn't have a bucket list because she's already done everything she wants to do." He slapped the fingers that reached in for another fry.

"No, Booth, I told you, that's not correct," she argued. "It's not possible for me to have done everything I'd like to do, not to mention that I can't know right now what might interest me in the future." She looked at his plate again and pouted when he covered the fries with his hand. "But I still don't understand why I should wait until I'm dying before I decide to have those experiences. Dad," she turned to Max. "Do you understand that?"

"It's not a matter of waiting until you know you're dying, honey," Max explained. "It's more that there are things you'd like to do, or places you'd like to see, before your time runs out. It's about setting priorities and living a well-rounded life, instead of just working all the time."

"Oh." She considered for a moment. "All right. I can understand that."

"That's what I said!" Booth exclaimed. Before he could react, she nabbed another fry.

"No," she shook her head, munching. "That was much better than your explanation." She looked up at Max and missed Booth making a face and repeating her words silently. "Do you have one of these lists, Dad?"

"Of course," he nodded. "I think everyone keeps a mental bucket list."

"Mr. Keenan?" The waitress called out, holding up a cardboard box. He stepped to the counter, handed over a few bills and took the box.

'Oh, really?" Booth smirked when Max turned back to them. "This ought to be good. What is on Max Keenan's bucket list?"

Max shifted the warm box to one hand and patted Booth's shoulder. "I'd like to walk my daughter down the aisle on her wedding day."

"You two kids have fun," he grinned. He dropped a kiss on Brennan's head and walked out whistling, leaving the two of them staring across the table at each other.


End file.
